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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368842">i'll still be asking when</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/torasame/pseuds/torasame'>torasame</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Drabble, M/M, haikyuu manga spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:01:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/torasame/pseuds/torasame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When the ball drops and the whistle blows, Kuroo Tetsuro does not cry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Angst Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'll still be asking when</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 3, all tiers: Photographs, Defeat, and "I don't want to lose you too."<br/>Title from "when" by dodie</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When the ball drops and Nekoma loses, Kuroo Tetsuro does not cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands tall, breathes easier, and carries the team on his shoulders. He holds them together when they're falling apart. It's nothing neurotic, no suppressed emotions or internalized grief. It's eerie calm, white noise. It's like he's seen this coming. It feels more like a memory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And perhaps it is, perhaps future him is just looking back on this now, browsing the polaroids in his mind. Part of his consciousness moves with the wind and the other is caught in the divide. Like a song put on a sudden pause with its echoes fading in the quiet room. Like it's stretching to its end but doesn't quite get there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body moves on its own when his soul leaves it on autopilot. It's a quick smile and a boisterous laugh when he moves to hug members of Karasuno and his own team. It's like he's spectating from the window of his mind, like watching life unfurl like a film. It isn't that much of a stretch to believe— he's always remembered things in photographs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moves to embrace Daichi and Azumane. He moves to embrace Yaku and Kai for the last time in their last official match. He moves to comfort the first year's who've succumbed to tears. He reaches forward and takes Tsukishima's hand, chuckling at the blonde's bashfulness. Kuroo pats the number on his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The team dinner is a tearful one, Kuroo has given up on consolation and leaves everyone (except Kenma) to emote. It's always been like this, he thinks, we've all had our losses. But somewhere along the way, Kuroo stopped giving in to sadness. He hasn't been able to cry for quite a while now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finishes dinner in silence and excuses himself. He stays on the balcony for a little while, allowing the remnants of winter to brush against his skin, settling in silence for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn't take long for his phone to chime and words to appear on his screen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wanna go for a walk?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pockets his phone after he replies and heads for the door.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They fall into step on the sidewalk, shoulders brushing together, though Tsukishima doesn’t seem to mind. They need all the warmth they can get in the January evening. Some part of him registers the urge to reach out and link their fingers. The street is relatively empty, with the city flow moving in the opposite direction. He doesn’t act on it. But he lets the back of their hands brush ever so slightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Needed some fresh air?” Kuroo prompts. Tsukishima stuffs his hands into his pockets, he unconsciously buries into his scarf.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was getting too loud anyway,” he replies. “I’m sure you needed it too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a bit too dark to be lingering in the park, but they settle on doing so anyway. They take refuge on an unoccupied bench. It’s only then when Kuroo notices the ache in his legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m starting to think you brought me out here to cheer me up, Tsukki.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t said anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to,” Kuroo says easily, he stretches his arm across the back of the bench just behind Tsukishima’s shoulders. “But I like hearing you talk as well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima briefly entertains his flattery with an eye roll and the twitch on the corner of his lips. It’s another one of those moments Kuroo keeps in his mind, the mental picture he paints. It’s a little different with Tsukishima though. Where most of his memories are full of bright fields and blinding light— Tsukishima’s is darker. But it’s nothing like the few dim ones that tattoo themselves in the walls of his mind, it’s a photo taken in the dark with the flash on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His few past relationships faded in his mind despite his ability to recall them well. He thinks they’ve always been that, taken with underdeveloped film. They didn’t last very long as a result, but Kuroo isn’t entirely sure who’s to blame, and he isn’t sure what he takes of Tsukishima’s image in his head. Tsukishima is his first boyfriend, his first long-distance relationship, the first light and dark photograph in his gallery. He can’t read the signs hidden within the film.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That was fun," he says wistfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I guess it was," Tsukishima supplies and he doesn't know why he's laughing. It barely dies down when he decides to utter, "thank you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What for?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"For making it happen."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't just me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know," Kuroo replies, "but it wouldn't have been as fun without you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima wrings his fingers together in the childhood habit of his. "I could say the same for you. Thank you, Kuroo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reaches to hold his hand this time. He faintly traces the lines of athletic tape that decorate Tsukishima’s fingers, he feels the light bruises on his pale palm. A comfortable silence settles before Tsukishima speaks up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For someone so adamant about playing, I thought you’d be slightly…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Disheartened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s too strong of a word,” Tsukishima says, “I guess I would’ve gone with ‘down in the dumps.’ Even I can admit I’d probably ask to be alone after losing, especially since it’s your last year.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuroo laughs again, “my, where did the apathetic boy I knew go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He became an idiot and decided to date the cause of his recession,” Tsukishima huffs, Kuroo finds the smile that graces his lips quite charming. “But I guess I’m human, after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuroo weighs the words quietly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “I guess I just got used to losing,” he says honestly. “You stop getting hurt after some time I guess, your brain just automatically expects it to happen. But it isn’t as though I’m a pessimist or anything, though I guess after some time you just grow unaffected by it is what I’m really trying to say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought I was cursed for some time. I was younger and things never went my way and I thought ‘oh, maybe it’s because I stepped on something I shouldn’t have when we visited the shrine,’ but we all know that can’t be true. Or maybe it is. Maybe luck is just not in my favour. Whatever it may be, I’ve resigned to indifference. I’ll do whatever I can and whatever happens happens.” It takes a leaf falling beside his trainers for him to realize how much he’s said, he turns to Tsukishima and expects boredom or irritation but finds himself caught in a calculative gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the lightning hits him again. Because Tsukishima doesn’t fall for easy smiles and words. He doesn’t brush off the issue and move forward. He doesn’t make it about himself. He waits, he listens, and he thinks. There’s a slight tug in his chest, but it’s overrun by an invisible force that seems to pull his consciousness from his body. Will he go back to this moment in three years time? Is he looking back on it now? Is Tsukishima looking at him like this again? Is Tsukishima with him? Is Tsukishima there?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He won’t be,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the wind whispers in words only he can hear, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’ll fade away just like they always do. They’ll fade and you won’t be able to do a thing. But you know that, don’t you? You know it too well and yet here you are, asking for the obvious.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a quarter past eight in the evening,” Tsukishima says after an age, “you’re in Tokyo, right after your last Nationals game. You’re here with me, on this bench in (-) park.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuroo isn’t sure what Tsukishima is doing, but he clings to the words like a lifeline. He blocks out the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you hadn’t lost then you wouldn’t have fought harder, you wouldn’t have had a reason to train harder, you would’ve grown proud and obnoxious. You would’ve never improved and you wouldn’t be who you are right now.” The hand in his own grips him a little tighter, “you aren’t cursed Kuroo. If you weighed the balance of probability, if you traced everything back objectively, if you took everything apart bit by bit and put them back together, you’d see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kuroo isn’t sure when his body had ever felt so heavy. The ache in his limbs grows more apparent, his muscles feel stiffer with needles digging in when he shifts ever so slightly. Kuroo doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so tired. The weight keeps him grounded, like a rock keeping a piece of paper from blowing away. Reality is ghost-like in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head fits into the crook of Tsukishima’s neck while the blonde winds his arm around him, their hands are still intertwined, Tsukishima’’s thumb is running circles on his palm. His mind goes blank and the lights turn off. The film in his mind leaks black with ink. He’s caught in the in-between, in the present. He feels bare and exposed. He can’t see a thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still doesn’t cry when he pulls the strings in his chest and tells Tsukishima the truth he has never been able to admit to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want,” he wades past his words, he swallows past the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to lose you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You won’t,” Tsukishima says instantaneously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that?” He feels himself shrink, he feels the everything closing in. Tsukishima utters the words on the crown of his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I’ll always win.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the lack of tears, he lets out a watery laugh, nuzzling closer to Tsukishima. He’s in no state for epiphanies. He can’t tell what is for certain, can’t look for a light in the tunnel he drove himself into.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima supports his weight when they stand, he slows his pace as they make their way back to their respective hotels. Tsukishima doesn’t say any more, but for once Kuroo lets his mind fall into amiable quiet. He won’t be back on his feet tomorrow, he won’t miraculously find the way back to the path. But he’ll have to get it in his head soon enough. And it isn’t as though he’s alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand remains in Tsukishima’s for the duration of the walk. They follow the city’s current. They stumble along the lamplight. Tsukishima anchors him down, he pulls the string in his chest and let’s it make noise. He lets himself ache, he lets the fire spread in his chest. He lets himself believe the strange boy who glows in the dark. He walks out of the room in his mind, he does not look at the moon or the sky. He stops asking when. He starts looking at the hand holding his own. It’s neither a memory or something in the distant future. It’s a song still being written. It's a calm and white noise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the night falls and Tsukishima wins, Kuroo Tetsuro lets himself believe again.</span>
</p>
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